Defying death on desert crossing / 3 men, 40 miles, 3 days, no water

Tyche Hendricks

Published
4:00 am PDT, Sunday, May 30, 2004

Daniel Rosas Romero, 43 years old, walked across the desert during three days and nights, determined to put his daughter through college back in his hometown of Veracruz, Mexico. He is here at the San Francisco Day Laborer Program. Shot on 5/24/04 in San Francisco. LIZ HAFALIA / The Chronicle less

Daniel Rosas Romero, 43 years old, walked across the desert during three days and nights, determined to put his daughter through college back in his hometown of Veracruz, Mexico. He is here at the San Francisco ... more

Photo: LIZ HAFALIA

Photo: LIZ HAFALIA

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Daniel Rosas Romero, 43 years old, walked across the desert during three days and nights, determined to put his daughter through college back in his hometown of Veracruz, Mexico. He is here at the San Francisco Day Laborer Program. Shot on 5/24/04 in San Francisco. LIZ HAFALIA / The Chronicle less

Daniel Rosas Romero, 43 years old, walked across the desert during three days and nights, determined to put his daughter through college back in his hometown of Veracruz, Mexico. He is here at the San Francisco ... more

Photo: LIZ HAFALIA

Defying death on desert crossing / 3 men, 40 miles, 3 days, no water

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When he emerged from the desert, feet bloodied, mouth parched beyond salivating, Daniel Rosas Romero was convinced that he owed his survival to divine protection.

"I knew I could lose my life out there," said Rosas, remembering the ordeal with a shudder. "All my days I will be thankful to God that I made it, because thousands of people have died."

Rosas, now 43 and a San Francisco housepainter, set out almost four years ago to cross the border from Mexico into the United States. He and two other men hiked for three nights and three days, covering almost 40 miles of Chihuahuan desert, before they tasted their first drink of water from a cattle trough outside Deming, N.M.

The three companions had started their hike carrying a 5-gallon jug of water, but when, on the first night, a U.S. Border Patrol helicopter circled overhead and its spotlight glinted off the jug, the men abandoned it, fearing its reflection would give them away.

One of the travelers, a man named Angel, knew the route well, but even he lost hope halfway. On the second day, their small stash of food and juice long gone, their bodies dehydrated by the blistering heat, Angel was ready to turn himself in to a Border Patrol jeep they spotted on the horizon.

"He was desperate," said Rosas. "He was wearing huaraches and his feet were all torn up. He said even jail would be better than the desert; at least they'd have water."

But his companions persuaded Angel to stay the course, so instead of approaching the Border Patrol, they hid. "Without a guide, we would have been lost," said Rosas. "We didn't encounter a single soul in those three days."

Rosas, a native of the southern port city of Veracruz with a grammar school education, was crossing the border so he could make enough money to put his two children through high school and even college. On the risky trek across southern New Mexico, though, he kept himself going with a more immediate goal.

"In the desert, my plan -- if I made it across -- was to earn the money to give my daughter a great quinceañera," he said, referring to the traditional girl's 15th birthday coming-of-age party.

Once they had slaked their thirst in Deming and bought a box of crackers with the last of their money, Rosas and his companions trudged on to the Southern Pacific railroad tracks. They spent the next two days riding freight cars to California, then recuperated from the ordeal at a Pentecostal rescue mission in the Riverside County town of Indio, before making their way to San Francisco.

True to his goal, Rosas managed to save $2,000 in his first three months here, enough for his family in Veracruz to put on a quinceañera party for 400 people.

"I couldn't be there for it," he said, "but I felt great."

Today, his daughter is 19 and in her first year of college. Rosas sends her $400 a month, and has promised to keep working in the United States for three more years until she gets her degree in business administration. Then he plans to head home and try his hand at raising cattle.

His 17-year-old son, less academically inclined, has asked Rosas for permission to come join him in California. The answer? Forget it.

"It's too dangerous," he said. "I would never, never recommend that someone cross like I did, with no money and no coyote."

Nor, he said, would he entrust his son, or even himself, to a paid smuggler.

"I will never cross the desert again. It was my first crossing, and it will be my last."